Dreams
by FantasticalnessGirl
Summary: It all started with a dream... Johnlock fluff!
1. Chapter One

_Dreams_

_Chapter One_

Sherlock Holmes woke with a start in 221B. His breathing was jagged, quick and labored; nightmares. They had been plaguing him ever since he had come back to 221B Baker Street, unveiling to John and Mrs. Hudson that he was, in fact, alive. They had been overjoyed and angry (mostly only John) but more happy than anything.

His nightmares were getting worse. A few nights ago he dreamt that he was back on St. Bartholomew's hospital roof, but this time Moriarty had John jumping from the roof instead, to save his loved ones. And Sherlock was powerless; Moriarty had cut out his vocal cords. He was forced to watch John fall to his (very real) death. Seconds ago his caring, care-free flatmate; now a bloody, broken mess on the pavement below.

Tonight was even worse; Moriarty (always Moriarty) was pointing a gun at John, telling him that if he moved at all, he'd shoot. But as he said that, uncontrollable spasms racked his body, and every time Sherlock twitched, another one of John's body parts got a bullet buried in it. First, his foot, which the army doctor took like a soldier and simply gritted his teeth painfully; next, his thigh, which he couldn't help but scream in agony at. It progressed in that fashion, going then from his bicep, shoulder, and then temple.

Even as Sherlock lay trembling slightly in his bed, he could hear his best friend's screams echoing in his head, his pleads for him to stop moving, his sobs that made his whole body shake. After his heart rate had returned to normal, Sherlock mentally reprimanded himself.

_It's just a dream,_ he scolded himself. _It's just your subconscious playing games with you. Nothing to fear. John is upstairs right now, safe._

Somehow, he felt himself acting strangely around him and at the mention of him. His heart rate noticeably increased; warmer cheeks; lack of coordination. It was hard to ignore the signs of sexual attraction. Sherlock constantly was trying to deny that that's what the change in behaviour was from, but there was no other logical explanation. He was simply in love. In love with the way John smiled, the way he was strictly military until he laughed. In love with his greying blond hair and his curiously coloured eyes; sometimes a pool of golden-brownish honey, sometimes as dark as the London night sky.

_Stop it._

John was not in love with him. He was (painfully) uninterested in him, and completely, very heterosexual.

_Well…_

He didn't necessarily know if John was fully heterosexual. The science part of him got excited at the fact of a possible experiment. He did know that John looked at him differently than others, but he didn't know if it was from the fact that he knew Sherlock so well or because when Sherlock observed this, he had a cracked rib and John was tending to it. It very well could have been a doctor's look instead of a look of…love? Sherlock wasn't sure what to call it.

Sherlock glanced at the clock on his nightstand. 7:15 in the morning; enough time for him to come up with an experiment until John woke up. He closed his eyes and thought, steepling his fingers under his chin.

At 8:00, Sherlock had a plan.


	2. Chapter Two

_Chapter Two_

Sherlock heard John's alarm go off downstairs through the wall. A tedious sound, really; the incessant beeping made him think of a rubbish truck's backing up warning noise. He hauled himself out of bed, wrapping his robe around his shoulders and padding down the stairs. As he had predicted, John was already up, bleary-eyed and putting the kettle on for his daily cuppa.

"You want tea, Sherlock?" the doctor asked, glancing his way.

"Mph," the detective responded, waving a hand lazily in his direction and sinking into an armchair.

"I'll take that as a yes," John muttered under his breath, and pulled out another teacup.

"John, I'm going to need your help with something today," Sherlock said, eyes fixed pointedly on the all in front of him.

"Not another bloody eyeball experiment, I hope?" John responded, pouring the tea into the two cups and handing one to his flatmate. Sherlock took it, smirking.

"No, John. No more 'bloody' eyeball experiments. This one's a bit different."

"Different is never good with you," he said, sitting in the armchair across from the taller man.

Ignoring the doctor's comment, Sherlock plowed on with the story he had rehearsed in bed this morning. "I have recently come across and article about how some of the most sensitive parts of your body can be turned into exactly the opposite with proper stimulation, and I wanted to see if it was true."

John looked up, alarmed. "You're not going to kick my prick, are you?

Sherlock held back a sneer. "No, John. The article mainly focused on lips."

John looked confusedly at the detective. Sensing his confusion, Sherlock added: "Kissing, John. Kissing supposedly strengthens lips, for obvious reasons."

Realization dawned on the doctor. "You're planning on using me for a guinea pig and _snogging_ me?!"

Sherlock did his best to sound exasperated and irritated. "It's for science, John! And besides, it'd only be once a day for a week, for about…oh, five minutes?"

John gaped at the younger man. "A _week_? For _five minutes_?! Jesus, Sherlock, can't you use anyone else?"

"I can't use anyone with prior mouth infections! Your health has been completely up to scratch within the last few years, and that's what I need!" The detective watched his friend stare open-mouthed at him, obviously having some kind of internal battle within the confines of his mind. He silently pleaded that the article sounded believable; suddenly, he was doubting himself. It was like Baskerville all over again.

Finally, with a sharp breath, John glared at his flatmate. "Fine. But ONLY for a week, you hear me Sherlock?"

The consulting detective let a wisp of a smile play on his lips. "Yes, of course John."


	3. AN

Hey guys. Thanks so much for reading/following this fanfic! I'm a little busy this week (big soccer tournament!) but I promise I'll write/post more of this story ASAP! Thanks for sticking with me!


	4. Chapter Three

Sherlock noticed that John was very skittish throughout the rest of the day. Every time the taller man spoke, the doctor jumped and usually dropped whatever he was holding. Finally, the detective couldn't take the sound of anymore things bouncing/shattering on the floor and decided to start the experiment.

"John?" he called from the living room, and the first thing he heard (unsurprisingly) was the clatter of a fork on the linoleum kitchen floor.

"Yes?" the doctor shouted back a fraction of a second later. Sherlock observed that his voice was much higher than normal. Nervous, most likely.

So was he.

"I'm ready to start the experiment," the detective said, fighting a mad desire to grin. He was really going to get to kiss John.

"Oh - okay." The shorter man poked his head around the corner. "Where…where do you want to - uhm…do this?"

"The couch is fine," Sherlock said nonchalantly, patting the cushion next to him. The army doctor sat very reluctantly next to him, determinably not looking him in the eye.

"How long, again?"

"Five minutes," he answered briskly, typing madly into his phone. He looked over, observed his lips, and entered the data he had collected into his phone. After a few minutes of this, Sherlock flicked over to a stopwatch feature on his phone and set it for five minutes.

"Ready?" he asked, his right thumb hovering over the start button.

"As ready as I'll ever be," John muttered beside him.

Tapping his phone screen, the curly haired man started the timer. Then, slowly, as if to keep from startling off his flatmate, he reached out and turned the doctor's face towards his. Carefully, he leaned forwards and formed his lips to John's.

The shorter man's lips were soft and warm against his, and their mouths fit perfectly together. Sherlock felt the tips of his fingers tingling, and shivers racked his body; he couldn't help it. He tilted his head a bit more to the right, making the kiss more effective and comfortable for both men. Neither of them tried to push it past the gentle pace; John was just along for the ride, and Sherlock didn't want to alarm his flatmate if he kissed him anymore passionately.

The five minutes passed absurdly fast for the detective. It seemed they had only started when his phone began aggressively beeping; an annoying sound rather hard to ignore. John was the first to pull back.

"Right…thank you, John," the detective said after he had regained his wits. He got up from the couch and started to make his way to his bedroom, typing quickly on his phone as he went. "You've been an enormous help."

And then he shut the door on a very confused doctor.


	5. NA

Hey there guys! I'm super sorry, but I'll be too busy for the next week and a half or so to post anymore of this fanfic, but I promise you I have chapters written and I'll post them as soon as I have time. Sorry to make you guys wait, but I'll make up for it soon, I promise ;) Thanks for hanging around and sticking with me!


	6. Chapter Four

_Gentle lips moved against his as hands ran along his body. Long fingers tangled in his hair, and his body was pulled closer to the stranger. The kiss deepened, and John moaned with pleasure as his tongue collided with the doctor's. Curious about the identity of his lover, he opened one eye._

_ It was Sherlock Holmes._

John woke up breathing hard. It wasn't the first time that dream had occurred; it just had never been that…_vivid._ Ever since the kiss yesterday, the doctor had been living in an odd daze, floating along seemingly on a cloud, not able to think about anything but Sherlock's lips. As much as he tried to ignore it, John did fancy his flatmate. He couldn't help it. What was not to love? His piercing eyes that never stay the same colour, his curly dark brown hair, his enigmatic personality. And his _lips_…his soft, _experienced_ lips. Where in the world did he learn to kiss like that?

The short man dragged himself out of bed to make some tea for him and Sherlock. Unfortunately, he never exactly got all the way out of his room, because the very man he dreamed about was standing right outside it.

"JESUS, Sherlock!" John cried, thoroughly startled. "What the HELL are you doing?!"

"I figured we should get today's part of the experiment over with, so you aren't so jumpy for the rest of the day."

John blushed down to the flaxen roots of his hair at his friend's words. "Fine," he spluttered. The taller man brushed past him and wrapped his long, thin fingers around his wrist and pulled him to the foot of the bed. As John began hyperventilating, Sherlock began typing into his phone furiously. Just like the day before, the blond man's heart felt like it was going to pound its way right out of his chest.

"Calm down, John," his flatmate said without looking up from his phone. "Your pulse is through the roof."

Alarmed that the detective was aware of that fact, the nervous man forced himself to take deep breaths.

"Ready, John?"

"Yes."

Then Sherlock ensnared his lips in a kiss that made his heart dance.


	7. Chapter Five

Sherlock woke up on the third day of his…well, _experiment._ He hadn't slept much; 2 hours at the most. He never liked sleeping much anyway. Typically, his first thought was about John. Lately the army doctor was the _only_ thing he thought of. His shimmery flaxen hair, his military poise, the little crinkles by his eyes when he smiled.

The way he kissed.

Impossibly soft lips moving gently, _hesitantly,_ against his. The stubble on his chin that tickled Sherlock when their faces brushed together. The detective just couldn't get enough. He threw himself out of bed and walked groggily to his door, rubbing his bleary eyes furiously. However, when the sleepy man opened his door, his flatmate was standing directly outside it, just like Sherlock had done the previous day.

"John?" he said, confused. "What are you doing?"

"I'm here to get today's part of your bloody experiment over with," the doctor gritted out. Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"Alright," he said with a smirk. Without warning he reached out, pulled John towards him and angled his head. John's expression mirrored surprise and a hint of fear.

Why fear?

The detective dismissed it and gave in to his impulse. Leaning down, he attached his lips to John's and moved them softly against his. His flatmate was frozen stiff as a board for several long seconds, then relaxed slightly. He rested his hands on the taller man's chest and kissed back, stepping closer to Sherlock's body. The curly-haired man tangled his fingers in his friend's hair and kissed him harder. To hell with the experiment; Sherlock just wanted to stay entwined with John like this for as long as he could.

After a few minutes, the detective decided to experiment a little. (An experiment within an experiment, to say.) He ran his tongue along the doctor's lower lip greedily, wanting more.

Abruptly, John pulled away. "I…uh," he stammered, looking into very hurt and bewildered eyes. "That's…enough for today. That had to have been about five minutes…right?"

Sherlock glanced at his watch. "Ah. Yes…it was." Why, _why _had he pulled away so quickly? Maybe the detective was just living in a fantasy world. His flatmate would never have _feelings_ for him. He had, after all, voiced on numerous occasions that he wasn't gay, and the vehement reaction to him wanting to deepen the kiss was another sure sign that Sherlock was delusional.

"Sherlock?" John's voice cut through his jumbled, sad thoughts. "I'm going to make tea, okay?"

"Okay."

Then the clueless doctor left a very heartbroken man to his theories.


	8. Chapter Six

_Yesterday was such a disaster,_ John thought. The doctor was lying in his bed and staring at his ceiling, thinking about the previous day's mess and Sherlock's experiment. It had to end. John enjoyed the kissing, no doubt, but they weren't driven from _love;_ it was all just for science, for Sherlock's annoying insatiable thirst for knowledge. And the detective's actions yesterday…the army man _wanted_ it, but not if it wasn't true. The experiment would have to stop today, before the situation got out of his control.

John waited for Sherlock to appear at his door (he knew he would eventually; Sherlock was a creature of habit) to break the news to him. He knew his flatmate wouldn't be amused with his decision either, so he spent the passing minutes mentally preparing himself for an argument of epic proportions. At 8:30 exactly, there was a sharp rap on the door.

"John?" Sherlock's familiar baritone voice said from the other side.

"Come in," he answered, swallowing hard. How was he going to say this? Despite the fact that the blond man just spent over 15 minutes coming up with a valid argument, everything slipped through his grasp and escaped, leaving him mute.

"The experiment. Are you ready?" the tall man asked his still bedridden friend.

John sat up. _Here goes nothing,_ he thought. "No."

Sherlock looked baffled. "No?"

"No, Sherlock. This experiment of yours…it's got to end."

Now the detective looked slightly peeved. "End? Why?"

"Because, Sherlock! I'm not going through four more days of snogging you, whether it's for bloody science or not!" John hoped that sounded convincing.

"Well, why not?!" the curly-haired man raged, stomping out into the living room. Irritated, John followed. Sherlock was still ranting when he came in. "You've done it before, what's the problem with doing it again?!"

"Because I'm not sure if I'll be able to control myself if we snog again!" the doctor burst out unexpectedly.

A roaring, loud silence filled the room for several seconds before the detective spoke. "Control yourself?"

John stood still and said nothing as Sherlock took a step closer.

"_Control_ yourself?" he repeated, now alarming near the blond man's face. "What do you mean?"

"I - never mind, I didn't know what I was saying - "

Sherlock grabbed his arm. "John…" He leaned in closer to the wide-eyed doctor. "Lose control," he whispered.

And so John simply did.

Hello all! Ohhh, cliffhangers, don't you just love them? As an apology for how long it's taking me to update this lately, you get two chapters today. Thanks for being so patient with me and this fic. Lots of school things going on (already), and soccer is starting much earlier than I expected…I have one, possibly two more chapters planned, and maybe if people like it enough an epilogue. Ciao lovelies!


	9. Chapter Seven

John reached out and took Sherlock's night shirt in his hands and pulled him close. Sherlock looked smug and - scared? Yes, there: behind his cocky gaze was just a touch of fear. Not being able to stand the tension any longer, the army doctor tugged Sherlock forward and pressed his lips onto his, standing on his very tip-toes to do so. His flatmate was so damn tall.

As soon as their lips touched, pure euphoria exploded in John's chest and coursed through his veins, making every extremity go numb. The shorter man instantly wanted more of Sherlock's soft lips. The detective paused for one bewildered second as he took in what was happening, then began slowly kissing back. John felt Sherlock bend over a little so the kiss was more comfortable for both of them. The doctor let his hands wander down the other man's slender figure, where they came to a rest on his hips. Sherlock effectively worked more passion in the kiss by parting his (beautiful, gentle, wondrous) lips a little and allowing John to explore his mouth.

Right as the army doctor's tongue touched Sherlock's, the detective moaned slightly and pressed himself closer to John. A taste like honey and tea danced on John's taste buds as he ran his tongue along Sherlock's mouth, simply curious what it must be like. Their tongues firmly tangled, John steered Sherlock towards the kitchen table, where he pushed the taller man onto it so their heights were equalized. Sherlock wrapped his long (muscular, sinewy, perfect) legs around the doctor's waist and used them to pull him even closer.

John wrapped his arms around Sherlock's chest and held him close, feeling his accelerated heartbeat against his. He ensnared his fingers in the detective's curly dark brown hair and kissed him with more fervor, unable to subdue the desire. John's skin felt electric, every touch from Sherlock magnified tenfold to feel like a lightning strike. The other man's large, thin fingers cupped his face and traced his spine, making the doctor involuntarily shudder. Slowly, gradually, the kisses abated; became more deep and passionate instead of fast and aggressive. Eventually, they stopped. John opened his eyes slowly and let them focus on Sherlock's (very) dilated pupils; so dilated, in fact, that the normal stormy grey-blue that his irises were usually were now thin slits of silver, like a shaving from the very moon in the sky mixed with the colour of the stars.

The detective's hair was disheveled, and his night shirt had fallen halfway off in the frenzy. He stared at John, his swollen red lips still partially open, dumbstruck. John leaned forward and kissed his nose lightly.

"How's that for your experiment?" he said in a deeper, unfamiliar voice that did not seem like his own.

Sherlock chuckled, his deep voice vibrating against John's chest. "Actually, about that..." He smiled. "It was all a lie. There is no experiment. It was just an excuse for me to kiss you."

John gaped at him. "But…"

Sherlock grinned and leaned closer. "Just kiss me again you idiot."

"…gladly."

Hello again my gorgeous readers. Well, this is the end. This truly was a fun little fanfic to write. So much opportunity to write what I wanted. If you want, maybe an epilogue? Let me know in the comments if you want one! Ciao lovelies!


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